In Shades of Blue
by Song of Grey Lemons
Summary: Some dream in color; others dream in black and white. She dreams in shades of blue, and nothing can change that. Not even a dust of snow.
1. The Shape of A Shoe

In Shades of Blue

Disclaimer: I own no characters or places that you recognize.

Chapter One: The Shape of a Shoe

She glanced around the store. Girls roamed the aisles, searching for dresses and shoes. She groaned at the idea of joining their ranks in just a few minutes. _Stupid eighth grade dance_, she thought.

"Raven? You ready? You do know this is the main event of the holiday season, don't you? We gotta move it; the good stuff ain't gonna last!" A voice in her ear hissed.

"_Allyson Simmons_. How many times have I told you that it's '_We have got to move it; the good stuff isn't going to last?'" _Raven asked, her friend's bad grammar adding to her annoyance.

"_Raven Darkholme,_" Allyson mimicked. "You know that grammar doesn't matter while shoe shopping, right? Besides, am I correct in saying that you've already gotten a boy to dance with?" She grinned impishly. Gossiping was one of Allyson's hobbies.

"Ally, please not now," hissed Raven; she hated discussing things like this in public. It was worse than shopping for the dance.

"Fine. Let's start, then," Allyson announced. Sighing, Raven agreed.

Ten or so minutes later, Raven wasn't so sure that shopping was better than talking about her love life. She'd already gotten horribly bored of watching Alyson's long blonde pony-tail bobbing in front of her. Her eyes kept straying to a rack of nice, long blue jeans in the corner of the store. Her longing for a chance to visit that part of the shop only intensified when Allyson happily told her that next on the list were the high heels.

"Do we have to? I mean, wouldn't sneakers work?" Raven muttered. "It's such a waste of time."

"I doubt that your dance date would agree with you," Allyson said cheerfully. "Try these pink ones. They look cool."

Groaning, she sat down on a bench, yanked off her old high-tops and jammed the pink heels on. She caught Allyson staring at her.

"What now, Allyson Simmons?" She asked, sounding dangerously annoyed.

"Raven, what size shoe do you wear?" Allyson inquired, suspiciously looking at Raven's foot. Raven paused.

"A…size seven-and-a-half…?" She said, thinking. "Why do you ask?"

"Because these things are a size five," Allyson told her, biting her lip. Raven couldn't see why she looked so worried.

"Ally? What's wrong?" The brunette searched her friend's pale blue eyes, trying to find a hidden answer.

"It's just…what…if…you are one of…Them?" Allyson said uncomfortably. Raven could see she was nervous; she was running her tongue over her pale pink braces, a sure sign that she was scared.

'_Them?' What on earth is Allyson Simmons talking about? _Thought Raven, utterly confused about why her best friend was acting so strangely. Suddenly, she understood. Allyson's parents were strong anti-mutant advocates. Allyson had been taught to fear these, as Mrs. Simmons often put it, 'genetic blemishes upon the human race.' 'Them' meant 'mutants.' Raven wasn't a strong mutant advocate but she didn't find it necessary to avoid the word.

"Oh, of course not, Ally! Shoe size is a relative thing, you know. And besides, try saying 'mutant' once in a while. It won't kill you," Raven said, smiling with relief.

"It won't kill me, but Mom might," Allyson huffed under her breath. To Raven, she said, "Alright. Try these, then." She handed her friend another box, this one containing a pair of lilac-colored shoes. These had a much higher heel than the previous ones. Raven gave an audible moan and jammed one onto her foot. It fit perfectly; she did not even wince.

"Uh…Raven?" asked Ally, eying the other girl who had managed to get to her feet and was making an attempt to walk. All she'd managed so far was to make a few wobbly movements and had been forced to grab onto a mirror to keep her balance.

"_What?_" she hissed, severely annoyed at the distraction. Allyson hesitated.

"Those shoes are, well, uh…" she stuttered and trailed off. Raven groaned.

"Go on, spit it out! It can't be worse than wearing these heels, anyway!"

"They're size 11," Allyson told her. At this news, Raven lost her stability and slid to the floor.

"What?" she stared at the other girl's still-bobbing blonde hair. "That's impossible!"

"Go on, try these," Allyson said bitterly as she stuffed another shoe box under Raven's nose. These were an infant size. Raven sighed at the prospect of more girly shoes, but, to her relief, these were bright orange booties. Smiling and ready to prove that she was a human, she yanked off the lilac ones and slipped on the orange shoes. To her utter horror, they fit. The world began to swirl.

"Ally? Ally! Answer me? What's happening?" Raven cried out, wishing that it was all a dream. Just a nightmare. Allyson did not answer for a while. Then she spoke.

"You're turning blue," she said. There was something about her voice that made it sound as though she didn't care about Raven anymore. The brunette (at least she hoped she was still a brunette. With all these recent events, she couldn't be sure) looked down at her hands. Her skin was, as Allyson had said, turning dark blue and scaly. She screamed in fear, which sent a worker running her way.

"How may I- ARGHHH!" the worker stopped mid-sentence and screamed. One look at Raven sent her to the phone, her fingers dialing 9-1-1 before her brain could even register what was happening.

"Hello? We're having a mutant attack. Please come quickly!" she shouted into the receiver. _I'm not attacking you!_ Raven thought angrily.

"I don't like you anymore, creature_,_" Allyson said coldly.

"Ally, please, my name is Raven," she pleaded, tears starting to well up in her eyes. "You know me. Don't you?"

"Do I? Let us see. Blue-skinned, scaly, _and_ shape-shifting? No. sorry, doesn't ring a bell," Allyson smirked. _What?_ Thought Raven, confused. She looked down at her body. She nearly screamed in shock when she did so; her once-pale skin was rough and scale-covered. _What have I become? _She heard sirens in the distance. Unable to hold back her tears any longer, she began to sob. Allyson watched her, showing no pity for the blue-skinned teenager before her.


	2. Chapter 2: The Aura of Mystique

**In Shades of Blue**

Disclaimer: Once again, I own nothing that you recognize.

Chapter Two: The Aura of Mystique

"No, doctor. I did not attack anybody," the girl once known as Raven Darkholme responded for what seemed the millionth time to a doctor's question, fiddling with a button on her hospital gown. The doctor in question was standing as far away from Raven as he could. He had seemed hesitant to even stay in the same room as her. This did not surprise her; her entire body dark blue and the gown she'd been forced into wasn't exactly substantial. She was finding his discomfort pleasurable to watch; after all, she did not want to be the only sufferer.

"Are you sure?" _Here we go again,_ she thought, annoyed with the man before her. Just because she was a mutant, she was not to be trusted. It was as though he thought that she was lying. Then again, she _had_ lied to him. Of course, he wouldn't know it; she had told him that she felt fine when he'd asked. She really felt anything but fine, although she assumed that it was fine for somebody who had turned blue and scaly and then been forced through over a dozen mental tests in however many hours she had spent here. She found it difficult to keep track of time when she wasn't even allowed to see a clock. There was only her, the doctors, the small bed in the middle of the room, and the testing machines. All she knew was that enough time had passed for her sadness to morph into anger and hatred of the doctors at this facility.

"Yeah," said Raven. Well, in truth, she guessed that she no longer was Raven; Raven was a pale-skinned brunette. She was something else entirely. She'd heard that mutants often came up with code names. She'd be…well, she wasn't entirely sure, but something along the lines of 'magic' or 'glamour' would be fine. She would have to make use of the thesaurus that she had at home. Assuming they ever let her leave this place. Speaking of that, where was she? A hospital, perhaps? It looked like it, but, judging by the padded walls, she was in a mental facility. But why? She wasn't insane…

"Would you like to, uh, put some actual clothing on?" the loathsome Mr. White Coat asked her, shifting his weight from foot to foot and looking rather awkward. She was enjoying his uncertainty.

"No thank you, sir. I prefer to stay like this," she said with a girlish smile, running her hand through her now-reddish hair. The doctor bit his lip.

"I insist," he said, as firmly as he could.

"So do I," she repeated simply, just for the sake of denying him. His lips formed a small "oh" that never left his tongue.

"Well, I'll, um, leave you then," he stuttered, eyeing the girl's body in disgust before leaving the room. She smiled in satisfaction. The opportunity to alarm doctors made up for the poor conditions.

"Miss Darkholme? Someone is here to get you. Her name's Olive Linder. She tells me she's your cousin; is this true?" Mr. White Coat had returned, looking (if this was even possible) more nervous than before.

"Yeah," she said. There was nothing more that she could say.

"Well, she's waiting for you in her car out front. You are excused," he told the teenager. She smiled, stood, and started making her way to the door. He looked relieved to be getting rid of this patient; she knew this just by seeing his expression. For this reason, she could not and did not resist the urge to elegantly slide off her hospital gown and twirl for him before making a speedy exit.

Fortunately, Olive was not the type to scream upon seeing her cousin completely blue. In fact, she acted like nothing had changed.

"Hi, Raven!" she called from her car, grinning. "Complicated day?"

"You could most certainly say that, Olive," Raven said with a sigh as she got into the older girl's car. Olive smiled understandingly.

"I just got a call from a man named Charles Xavier. He runs a school for mutants, somewhere in New York. He offered you a place. Do you think you'll go?" she asked, kindly smiling at Raven.

"Sure. I mean, I most definitely won't be able to go back to Woodall Middle School. Not after the news gets out, anyway," Raven responded, her voice perfectly calm. She glanced out the window; the reactions of the other drivers were very entertaining to watch.

"He also asked if you knew what your 'mutant name' is. I'm not sure what he means. Do you?" Olive looked puzzled.

"I think so. I'm…Mystique," the blue-skinned girl announced, not even turning away from the window. She wasn't entirely sure why she'd said 'Mystique,' but it seemed to fit.

"I like it," Olive said. "I'll call him back and tell him you're going, if your parents agree." The rest of the ride home was spent sitting in silence and scaring drivers. _Mystique…indeed, she did have an aura of mystery and magic. Mystique…_

**A/N:Please review! I would like at least one comment before I post the final chappie of this story...**


	3. Chapter 3: Dust of Snow

**In Shades of** **Blue**

**A/N:** Last chapter! Hope you enjoyed the story! Please review and tell me how it was.

Chapter 3: Dust of Snow

It was Christmas Eve. Earlier that day, it had snowed across the entire United States. Mystique, who now sat by her bedroom window, highly suspected that it had something to do with the fact that Ororo Munroe had finally been given the honor of putting the star on the top of the Holiday Spruce (the school called it that mainly for Mr. Lensherr's sake). It was a task held in high esteem by everyone in the mansion, down to the last teacher. The thick white blanket covered the ground like a strange, soft sheet. It was bound to be a white Christmas.

Mystique glanced at the clock; it was 4:08pm. She still had two minutes before she left. Her destination was a curious one for a sixteen-year-old mutant on Christmas Eve. She was to travel to an anti-mutant organization to listen to a speaker at a "Stop the Mutiny!" meeting.

That morning, she had asked the Professor for permission to go. He had told her that she could, of course, go, but that it was a pretty unusual request. She had said that she was going to "see an old friend." He had nodded and let her know that the secretary would teleport her to her destination with the condition that she would return by seven-thirty for the Christmas feast. This would be no problem; the meeting ran until seven.

"Mystique? Are you ready?" the voice of Macavity, the school secretary and on-dorm transportation system, called. The girl leapt up from her bed, walked out of her room and to the stairs, and gracefully slid down the banister towards the waiting Macavity who had clearly been infected with the holiday spirit and was wearing Rudolph antlers.

"Guess so," Mystique responded, walking closer to the secretary. Macavity held out her arm and the teenager took it.

"So, where to?" asked Macavity, straightening her antlers with her free hand. Mystique sighed.

"The Woodall Middle School Auditorium, please," she said. The last time she'd been at Woodall was eighth grade. That had been three years ago and, before this, she'd had no intention of going back. But here she was, ready to do so.

"Alright. Hold on," Macavity announced and grasped Mystique's arm tightly. For a few short moments, Mystique felt the world turn upside down. All the air was squeezed out of her; she felt dizzy and nauseated. And then it was over, ending just as quickly as it had started.

"I hate teleporting, and my motion sickness really doesn't help," she mumbled to no one in particular as she morphed into a pretty blonde lady she'd seen at the supermarket the other day.

"Alright, then. Contact the Professor mentally when you need to be picked up. Have fun!" Macavity winked and disappeared in a cloud of red smoke that slowly faded away into the air.

Mystique turned to face the building that had once been her school. The entrance arc was strung with holiday lights and the doors sported large fir wreaths with giant satin bows. The pathway leading to the main entrance was lined with candles that were nestled gently in the snow. The school looked beautiful. There was only one thing that ruined the view for Mystique: a large sign on the front door reading,

"Humanity Helpers meeting tonight! Come and hear a special speaker present a spectacular story! No mutants allowed.

Signed,

Derek Simmons, Committee President."

_There's still time to go back. You don't have to listen to this, you know,_ a small voice inside her head whispered.

"Yes, I do," she said aloud, her voice fierce. With her head held high, she walked down the little path, the one marked with candles, and straight into the building. She had to do this.

She strode up to the information booth. The one where they gave people directions. She didn't need directions; she knew the school like the back of her own hand. She had come for something else. She smiled pleasantly at the lady sitting there.

"How may I help you?" the lady asked kindly.

"Ma'am, how long has Mr. Simmons been committee president?" Mystique inquired in the soft voice of the one she was impersonating.

"Half a year, now," the woman responded, adjusting her eyeglasses.

"Thank you," Mystique smiled and turned to walk away. The woman, however, stopped her.

"Wait! I forgot to wish you happy holidays!" she called, laughing. Mystique grinned back and nodded her head before disappearing into the crowd.

She'd gotten a back row seat. She didn't know why, but felt it to be the right thing to do. After all, Mystique was here against the rules; there was no need to bring attention to herself. As she settled into her chair, she noticed that the auditorium was full. It struck her as sad that so many people had come to listen to some group of anti-mutant activists. _Don't people have better things to do during the holidays? _Mystique thought. Then again, she was there with them. But for a very different reason.

The lights dimmed. A strange hush fell over the crowd. Everybody watched the stage intently. Soon enough, a man walked onto it. Mystique knew who he was the moment she saw him. _Mr. Simmons_. She'd seen him many times before, but then he'd been at home in a tee-shirt, not dressed in a tux. He also hadn't been her enemy.

"Hello, everyone. As you all know, you will be hearing a special speaker tonight. That speaker has witnessed the manifestation of a mutant. She is my daughter, too. Please welcome Miss Allyson Simmons!" he cried out; the audience burst into thunderous applause as a skinny sixteen-year-old girl walked onto the stage. Even from where she sat , she could see the glint of pink braces. Her stomach tied itself into a knot. This was why she'd come. To hear Allyson speak. So why was she so scared?

"Good evening. I am here to tell a story of an experience I had with mutation. I used to have a friend. Her name was Raven Darkholme. I was with her when her mutation manifested. It was scary. We were at a department store when she lost her disguise. Raven, you see, had been hiding the signs of being a mutant for a long time by then. Oh, yes. Raven knew what she was going to be for a long time before that fateful day. She started to turn blue just as I so kindly offered her a box of shoes to try on and claw at random things. Her clothing seemed to melt away, leaving her nude with the grotesque scales showing. I screamed for assistance. The clerk called 9-1-1 just as she started to tear at my throat. I wanted to faint, but I didn't. I stayed strong; I was a true human, the best race on Earth. The police came fast and saved me at the last second. It was a terrible emotional trauma," Allyson stated in a pathetic, girlish simper that made Mystique's blood boil. _You're lying. This never happened! __**I**__ was the one who was nearly traumatized. You're making me a beast!_

"I never really trusted Raven. And I was right. She turned out to be a murderous freak who…" Mystique wanted to scream. She wanted to walk up onto that stage and punch Allyson, become the murderous freak she was describing. But she did not. Instead she rose to her feet and walked strait out the door. The lady who'd been sitting beside her called out something about where she was going. Mystique wasn't lying when she said she felt ill.

She stepped out onto the street and transformed back into herself. The snow crunched softly beneath her foot. She looked up and saw that flurries were falling again. She kept on walking. She knew that she wouldn't feel any better until she was far, far away from that awful auditorium. She had come to see Allyson speak on the mutant debate. She could now quite clearly see that she'd been an idiot. She'd hoped that there was still some of the Ally she'd known in the teenager who now loathed her. She'd been wrong, that she'd been clinging to a child's fantasy.

_All this time, Mysti, you've been wrong. Allyson Simmons is gone. You've been stupid, and you know it._ The voice within her head sounded cruel, but it was just telling the unvarnished truth. She sighed.

As she passed houses, she saw the decorations. The entire street seemed a cascade of fiery red and evergreen, entwined in Christmas lights. Inflatable Rudolphs dominated front yards and snowmen dressed in scarves and hats thrived near the back doors. The ornate homes all looked kind and welcoming, full of life and festivity. The people who lived there were carefree. They didn't face persecution every day. They had families and lives they lived. Why couldn't she be like them? It was unfair.

Tonight, many of these people would dream. Children would dream in color of dear Mr. Claus, trying to fit down the chimney (the fact that all of the fireplaces on the street were electrical would not matter to them). Parents would dream in pastel of their children's faces as they opened the presents that would soon be placed beneath the fir trees. Older people would dream of past Christmases in black and white, cherishing the memories. But Mystique knew she would not. Tonight, she would dream not in color or in black and white. She would dream in shades of blue, the way she'd dreamed each night since her powers had manifested, for she no longer had a use for colors; she was only blue, never to truly be any other color.

She heard a faint rusting above her head. Mystique looked up at the tree that had spread its branches over her, protecting her. On one bough sat a crow, pitch black in stark contrast to the crystalline snow. It ruffled its charcoal feathers in an attempt to straighten its wings and fly. Its wings gave another flap before in soared into the night, blending with the sky as it broke contact with the tree, knocking off a light dust of snow onto the girl beneath it. She closed her eyes, remembering a poem of Robert Frost's she had heard when she was little.

'_The way a crow_

_Shook down on me_

_The dust of snow _

_From a hemlock tree_

_Has given my heart_

_A change of mood_

_And saved some part_

_Of a day I had rued.'_

She shook her head so lightly it was almost imperceptible. The poem was nonsense. She would rue the day no matter how much frozen water fell into her hair. No crow could change the fact that Allyson had lied. The fact that her best friend had become her enemy. No dust of snow could change the coloration of her dreams. Nothing could. A tear slid down the blue skin of her cheek. No one but the night could see her now.

"_Mystique?_"

The sixteen-year-old spun around twice before she realized that the voice was inside her own head.

"_Professor?"_ she thought, startled.

"_The children want a game of charades after the feast. I think that the game is to be centered around you, so it might be wise to come soon. A group of hungry kids and teachers can eat very fast on Christmas Eve, especially if they are looking forward to a game."_ Mystique did not even try to suppress her smile.

"_I'm coming. Send Macavity, please." _A good game of charades could lift her spirits far more efficiently than any crow. Maybe, just maybe, the shades of blue in which she dreamed were beautiful in their own way.

_Yes,_ she thought as she watched Macavity, antlers and all, appear before her in a signature cloud of smoke. _Every shade of blue was mystically different. It had its own aura of mystique. _


End file.
